Thin Ice (36 page)

"Going somewhere?"

"No,” he answered with a trace of beligerence.

"Stil mad at me?"

His beligerence vanished. He lowered his eyes and shook his head, scuffed the toe of his high-top on the carpet. “I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to yel at you."

His dejection tore at her heart. Emily knew what she had to do. She sat up and set her book aside. “Come here, Tiger.” She patted the seat beside her. “We need to talk."

He came, and nestled against her like the confused child in need of reassurance that he was. She brushed his dark brown hair from his forehead, steeled herself against the pain she was about to cause him and prayed for the right words to come to her. For Robbie's sake, she didn't want to paint Ryan as a monster, but she had to let her son know his father couldn't be trusted.

"I'm going to tel you something that wil probably make you upset with me, but I want you to know the reason I didn't tel you sooner is because I love you very, very much.” She paused, mentaly took a deep breath. “Your father lives in St. Paul.” Robbie simply looked at her in bewilderment. “I've kept you from him because he has a lot of money, and I was afraid he'd use that money to take you away from me if he knew about you."

"He doesn't know about me?"

"Unfortunately, he does. He's known al along. He knows where we live, where I work, and where you go to school.” She paused to let that sink in.

"Why hasn't he come to see me?"

Pain laced his question, and lanced her heart. Emily kissed his crown. There was no easy way to tel him. “I don't know, sweetheart, but I'm glad he hasn't. He's not a nice man, Robbie. He has a bad temper, and likes to hit people."

His dark eyes rounded. “You?"

His dark eyes rounded. “You?"

"When we were married, yes."

His gaze lifted to her cheek. Emily waited in dread as he put the pieces together.

"Is he the man who hit you and knocked you down?” Robbie asked in a tiny voice.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted something from me and I wouldn't give it to him. Kind of like a buly on the playground. Now he's mad and threatening to take you away from me."

"You won't let him, wil you?"

"Not in a milion years. Don't even think it."

But he did, if only for a moment. She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and ached for him.

"I'm sorry about this morning...” he began unsteadily.

She shushed him with her fingers. “No, I am. I should have told you sooner why I wanted you to stay home from the mal. I'm worried he might try to see you."

"I don't talk to strangers."

She smiled and hugged him close. “I know you don't, but he's a tricky man. He could have you talking to him before you know it."

The grandfather clock in the hal chimed twelve. Emily heard Robbie's stomach rumble and remembered he'd stomped off before he'd finished breakfast. He was probably starved by now.

"What's he look like?” Robbie suddenly asked. “Me?"

"Not at al.” Thank God. “He's tal, blonde, and very ... friendly looking. He has pale blue eyes and he smiles a lot, especialy when he tels people what he thinks they want to hear, so he can get them to do what he wants."

"You mean he lies?"

"That, too."

Robbie's brow furrowed in thought. He was taking the news rather wel, considering. Much better than she'd expected. She decided to let him guide the rest of the conversation and waited. She'd covered the important points.

"Is his name Ryan?"

Emily puled back and studied her son's face. “How did you know that?"

that?"

"I heard you yeling at him on the phone last night."

The doorbel rang. Emily glanced toward the foyer, and suddenly wished Robbie was stil in his room. “Sit tight. I'l be back in a minute."

She opened the door to a pleasant-faced man in a dark suit.

"Dr. Jordan? Mike Sulkowski.” He handed her a card that identified him as a private investigator. “Miguel Sandoval asked me to stop by. I hope I'm not intruding."

She invited him in and cast a concerned glance at Robbie. He sat on the couch, fiddling with the fringe on a throw pilow he'd puled into his lap. Sulkowski spotted him and sent Emily a look that told her not to worry. Within seconds he'd introduced himself to Robbie and engaged him in a friendly conversation only a man familiar with eight-year-olds could carry off.

Satisfied Robbie would be al right, Emily offered the investigator a glass of iced tea. When she returned with it, she found him seated alone on the couch.

"Robbie's gone upstairs to get his Matchbox colection. I figured that would give us a few minutes to talk."

She smiled, liking the man. “Thank you."

He took a long swalow of his tea, smiled in appreciation. “Thank He took a long swalow of his tea, smiled in appreciation. “Thank you. After a morning of asking questions, this hits the spot. I've canvassed the area, asked your neighbors if they've seen any strange people or cars in the area. They'l assume I'm asking you the same questions. I told them I'm investigating a robbery a few blocks away."

"Have you come up with anything?"

"A man that fits your ex-husband's description was seen cruising the neighborhood in a late model black Porsche yesterday afternoon around two. Actualy, there were two men."

The photographer, Emily assumed. So it hadn't been her imagination working overtime last night when she feared he might come by.

Apparently he stil favored black Porsches, as wel.

"So he was here."

"Twice. Apparently he returned today, around mid-morning.” Using his finger and thumb, Sulkowski withdrew from his inside jacket pocket a manila envelope bearing her name. “He left this on the front step. I picked it up on my way in."

Emily stared. “I've been home al morning. If he was here, why didn't he show himself?” What sort of game was Ryan playing?

"My guess is he just wants to make you nervous. If he'd realy wanted to harm you or the boy, he'd have confronted you face to face."

face."

Emily didn't mention that he already had. If Sulkowski knew how she'd gotten the bruise on her cheek, he was being discreet. She preferred to let Miguel do the talking for her at this point.

"Mind if I see what's inside?” he asked.

She took the envelope, handled it as gingerly as he had, and lifted the flap. Inside were copies of newspaper clippings, dated ten years before, al about Eric. She skimmed a few damning headlines, then handed them over. “Apparently my ex-husband wants to drive a point home. He seems to think he can use whatever's in those articles against me to win custody of my son. I've been seeing the man they're about."

Sulkowski nodded and returned the articles to the envelope.

“Would you mind if I kept this for a while? I'd like to lift your ex's fingerprints from the envelope if possible. It might come in handy if he decides to file suit."

"Certainly."

"I'l get them back to you as soon as—"

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I won't be reading them.” She wouldn't add insult to injury. Eric was innocent. That was al she needed to know.

"I'l give them to Miguel, then.” He slipped the envelope back into

"I'l give them to Miguel, then.” He slipped the envelope back into his pocket just as Robbie bounded down the staircase carrying a bucket of Matchbox cars. Sulkowski admired the cars for several minutes before he thanked Emily for the tea and excused himself. At the door, he asked her to give him a cal if she received any more messages from her ex-husband.

Emily slipped his card into her pocket then rejoined Robbie, engrossed in a fantasy race with his cars. He seemed to have forgotten their interrupted conversation.

"How about some lunch at Friday's, big guy? I don't know about you, but I could use some soup, a sandwich, and a hot fudge Sundae right about now."

* * * *

Two months later Emily was trying her best to enjoy a rare lunch away from the hospital with Carmen when Carmen mentioned she had two tickets to the Saints’ opening Stanley Cup Finals game against the Baltimore Bombers the folowing night. The Saints had won the division quarterfinals against the St. Louis Blues, then gone on to defeat the Colorado Avalanche in the division semi-finals, and sweep the Dalas Stars in a particularly sweet series for the conference championship. They were now entering the finals to determine the winner of Lord Stanley's Cup.

Emily hadn't watched a single game. It hurt too much.

"Wanna go?"

Emily looked up from her tasteless Cobb salad. “Not funny, Carmen."

"I know it isn't. Neither is seeing you look like death warmed over and watching you pick at your food as if you're alergic to everything in it. You must have dropped ten pounds since I last saw you."

Emily poked at her lettuce. Carmen was close. She'd lost eight pounds since breaking up with Eric. Pounds she could il afford to lose. But everything tasted like sawdust these days.

Carmen's hand covered hers. “Cal him, Emily."

"I can't."

"Because of Montgomery?"

Emily shook her head and reached for her water glass. Ryan hadn't bothered her again once she'd let Eric go, but Emily suspected that was due to the letter Miguel had sent him, outlining exactly what she'd do if he attempted any custody suit. Her biggest regret was she hadn't had her meeting with Miguel sooner. If she had, she never would have caved in to Ryan's demands.

"Because of the things I said to him.” But it was more than that.

She'd thought about it long and hard. To return to Eric would open her life to the whims of a force she couldn't control—the NHL. If he her life to the whims of a force she couldn't control—the NHL. If he were traded, she'd have two choices. Go with him—and possibly end up dependent on him—or say goodbye. She'd already said goodbye. She didn't want to have to do it again.

"He came to see me, you know."

Emily paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “Eric came to see you?

When?"

"Three nights after your chat with your ex in the parking lot."

Emily felt betrayed. “Why didn't you tel me?"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to. Sarah sent him my way.

Apparently he tried to pry out of her what happened the night Montgomery attacked you."

Emily's stomach clenched. “You didn't tel him?"

"No, but watching you waste away before my eyes, I wish I had.

Have you at least been folowing the games?"

"Robbie refuses to miss them,” Emily prevaricated. She didn't want to give Carmen any more reason to badger her.

"How are you two getting along these days?"

Emily offered her first genuine smile. “Couldn't be better. I wish I'd told him about Ryan sooner. It's brought us closer."

told him about Ryan sooner. It's brought us closer."

She and Robbie had talked several times about Ryan, always at Robbie's request. She'd answered his questions honestly, presented only the facts, and let him make up his own mind about the man who had ignored his existence until it had suited his needs to intrude on their lives. With Carmen's help, she'd found a picture of him in a back issue of the Star-Tribune—his engagement picture to Catherine Stump—and now Robbie had a clear idea of what his father looked like and was up to these days.

"I'm glad I don't look like him,” Robbie had said. “I don't want to be anything like him."

Emily had laughed and hugged him, knowing he never would.

"Tel you what—I'l give you my ticket, too,” Carmen said. “You can take Robbie to the game."

Emily's smile faded. “No. That would be like dangling a bag of candy in front of him and teling him he can't have any.” Not to mention what it would do to her.

Carmen studied her in thoughtful silence. “Did you ever ask him about that business with his wife?"

Emily's response was swift and sure. “He didn't do it."

"Did he tel you who did?"

Abjectly, Emily pushed her salad away. “I didn't give him a chance to."

* * * *

The sound of Poison screeching at top volume dragged Eric out of his dream. Make that his personal nightmare. The nightmare he'd had regularly in the two months since Emily had turned him inside out by asking about Monica, then refusing to let him explain.

Monica. He'd bet the inheritance money he'd paid her to get out of his life that wherever she was, she was stil scheming to her black heart's content, tormenting some other gulible fool.

She'd seen him coming, al right. Nineteen years old and as green around women as they came. He'd taken one look at her and ached al over. Nothing like it had ever happened to him before, so he'd figured it had to be love.

He now knew it had been a bad case of hormones.

A social outcast who'd dropped out of school when he was sixteen, Eric had foregone dating in favor of his first love, hockey. He'd thought he'd have plenty of time to meet women later, when he made it big.

He was right. As soon as he started playing in the juniors things had started looking up. By the time he was drafted into the NHL, however, women were throwing themselves at him. Eric had gone back into his shel, the groupie scene damn near terrifying him. He hadn't been raised to consider sex as something you did with strangers. He also wasn't keen on catching any diseases.

But then Monica and her three-inch spiked heels had sashayed into his life. Within days he'd falen head over heels for a woman five years his senior with long black hair, soulful brown eyes, a body so hot it sizzled, and the sexiest set of legs in the state.

Legs he'd never suspected had been wrapped around his coach's waist more times than a politician shook hands.